


No Business Like Show Business

by adreadfulidea



Series: Hooray for Hollywood [2]
Category: Mad Men
Genre: F/F, PWP, roleplaying, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 18:42:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4972078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adreadfulidea/pseuds/adreadfulidea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joyce put the car in park on the street. She didn’t pull into the driveway, which was empty, or into the garage next to Megan’s car.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Business Like Show Business

 

Joyce put the car in park on the street. She didn’t pull into the driveway, which was empty, or into the garage next to Megan’s car.

The garden was in full bloom. It got so much sun that it was all dry-weather plants: blue rye grass, orange-yellow poppies and monkeyflowers. The window boxes were packed with fuschias. Off to the side there was a patch of odd, rounded succulents that Joyce didn’t know the name of. There used to be a lawn but Megan had insisted it was boring and had it yanked out. Now it was a gentle swell of rocks and flowers, leading up to the front door.

Joyce rang the bell and the intercom buzzed to life. “It’s open,” Megan said, and cut the connection.

The place wasn’t even that big, but in this neighborhood that sort of feature came standard. Joyce always forgot it was there and went to the peephole instead, standing on her toes to see out. The previous owner had been tall, a pro runner turned screenwriter.

Megan didn’t make an appearance. She was up in the office. Joyce stepped slowly up the stairs as though she hadn’t jogged down them, half-asleep, that very morning. She navigated the hallways of the house they had owned for more than a year like she had never seen them before.

The office door was open. Joyce tapped lightly on the doorframe and peeked inside.

Megan had taken the de Chirico prints down off the wall and put up a couple of framed movie posters instead; Bonnie and Clyde and _Jules et Jim_. The lamp had been replaced, too; switched from an expensive stained-glass thing that Megan’s mother had given to her to one that was standard library-style with a green shade.

The suit was new as well; it was grey and conservative and nothing like anything she would actually wear. There was a Hermès scarf knotted around her neck. She’d topped it all off with a pair of glasses and had slicked her hair back into a bun. Joyce tried not to smile.

“Ms. Calvet?” she asked instead. “You said you wanted to meet with me?”

Megan looked her over the top of her glasses. “Ramsay, right? That’s your name?”

“Joyce Ramsay, yeah. Can I sit down?”

“I have an appointment in…” Megan checked her watch. “Half an hour. But that should give us plenty of time.”

Joyce pulled out the chair across the desk - it was from their dining room - and sat. She fiddled with the zipper on her jacket to try and play up the whole green, nervous writer thing. Maybe that was the wrong gesture to pick. She wasn’t the actress, here.

Megan grinned; no, Megan _leered_ , a completely predatory expression that Joyce had never seen on her face before. In that moment she appeared every inch the high-powered wolf, the kind of producer who painted the town red every night with a different model on his arm. In spite of having the wrong parts for the role, so to speak.

Joyce felt her face heat up. Sometimes she forgot that Megan used to do this professionally. “So what did you think?”

“I think we should start of with a drink,” Megan said. “And then we’ll get down to business.” She crossed the room to the liquor caddy and poured them each a finger of bourbon. The loose skirt swished against her legs. Joyce had no idea how she was avoiding looking like an uptight secretary in that outfit. Maybe it was the chunky gold men’s wristwatch, or the way the severe hairstyle brought out the bone structure in her face. But she was pulling it off.

Joyce almost expected her to sit on the edge of the desk when she came back with the drink, beginning of a porno style. Instead she went back to her chair.

She crossed her legs, but slowly - and ah, there it was. A flash of lacy red underwear, clearly chosen for effect.

Joyce eyed her up and drained the drink. It burned all the way down.

Megan smiled like a shark again. “In a hurry?”

“You did say you had a meeting.”

Megan nodded and put her glass down. “Fair enough. I liked the script - I want to tell you that first.”

“But?”

“But,” said Megan, “it’s hard to get into this business. You don’t have the connections and it doesn’t matter how good your script is.”

Joyce feigned confusion. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Megan didn’t do anything as obvious as hike her skirt up, but she spread her knees apart and planted both feet on the floor. “I mean that we could form a connection. I’m a good person to have in your corner.”

“Oh,” said Joyce. She ducked her head shyly and cleared her throat. “I can… I can do that. I’ve been told I’m pretty good at it, actually.”

“We’ll see,” said Megan, and reached under her skirt to pull those red lace panties off.

They dangled off her ankle as Joyce got down on her knees and pulled Megan’s legs over her shoulders. She was still wearing her leather jacket and it creaked a bit from Megan’s skin sliding against the fabric.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you?” Megan said.

Joyce thought about nipping her for that one, right on the round part of her inner thigh. But that wouldn’t be in character.

She kissed her instead, between the legs, with a slightly open mouth. Very gently and almost hesitant. Megan sighed and settled back.

“Like that?” Joyce asked.

“Like that,” Megan agreed. One of her heels scraped the back of Joyce’s jacket. She wondered if it was going to leave a mark.

Joyce pretended not to know Megan’s body, to be unfamiliar with what she liked. She could almost convince herself that it was true; it was an excuse to tease. For slow, exploratory swipes of her tongue, tasting more than providing any real stimulation.

“I thought you were supposed to be good at this,” Megan complained.

Joyce grinned. Her girl had never been patient when it came to sex.

“I get it,” she said. “So more like this?”

Joyce sealed her mouth to Megan’s cunt and sucked until she started to twitch. Then she stopped; soothed her with long wet licks - and started again. Megan jerked in her seat. It was wet under her, making the chair - plastic, thank god - slippery. Joyce cupped her ass and lifted.

Megan didn’t need any coaxing. She crossed her legs across Joyce’s back, riding her face. When Joyce rubbed the tip of her tongue across Megan’s clit she whimpered, so she did it again - and again -

“Ah - oh, you - _Joyce_ ,” Megan panted. She grabbed fistfuls of hair.

Joyce sucked, hard - and abruptly let go.

“God!” Megan sobbed the word out and tried to follow Joyce’s mouth with her hips.

Joyce pushed her back down with a hand on her belly. Megan grunted as she fell back into the chair. Her hair was coming loose and she had bitten her lips, smearing lipstick everywhere.

There was something about it - half dressed, messy - that made Joyce want to watch. So instead of going back down she pressed a finger against Megan’s clit, grinding down in a circle.

Her eyes popped open. “Oh,” she gasped.

“Yeah,” said Joyce. “I know what you want. I know, baby.”

She pushed two fingers inside, carefully. They made a slick, dirty sound.

“Hear that?” asked Joyce. “That’s how bad you need this.”

Megan said something in french and stared blindly up at the ceiling. Joyce fucked her leisurely, curling her fingers just a little. Spreading that good ache. She rubbed her clit firm but slow. Not enough, not yet.

Megan squirmed and clenched around her fingers. “Nnngh, you - harder. Please.”

“You sure?” asked Joyce, and didn’t wait for answer. She pressed up inside, rubbing fiercely, and _down_ on the clit at the same time, once, twice, three times -

Megan spasmed and screamed, pulling away from Joyce. Her body curled in on itself from the force of it. Her thighs were streaked with wet.

“Jesus,” she said, after she had come down. “I’m not sure I can stand.”

“Why do you need to stand?”

Megan stretched in a satisfied way. “Because I have plans.”

Megan’s plans were to take off her skirt and then get Joyce bent over the desk with her pants down around her knees.

“You need to be taught a lesson about how to make it in this town,” she said as she rummaged around in one of the desk drawers. “You - um -”

“Bottom drawer,” Joyce said out of the side of her mouth.

“Right,” said Megan. She retrieved their strap-on and buckled the harness around herself. “As I was saying.”

“Punishment,” said Joyce. “Or something?”

“Yes,” said Megan, and rubbed the head of the dildo against Joyce’s slit.

Joyce shivered. It wasn’t very big because she didn’t like big, but there was still a pleasant burn as Megan fucked into her.

Megan pinned Joyce’s wrists to the desktop as she bottomed out. Joyce groaned; she felt - caught, held - she throbbed around the cock inside her and wished Megan would move.

Megan bent at the waist and settled herself along the length of Joyce’s body. She rocked her hips in maddening little thrusts.

Joyce liked it; she liked it _so_ much. She liked being fucked deep and sweet, so the dildo was barely moving. Just pushing so perfectly against the right spot inside her, keeping her open and ready and - fucking _dripping_ on the floor -

She was going to come already, and that was pathetic, but Joyce was too content to care about stamina. It started to roll through her -

“And that’s your lesson,” Megan whispered in her ear. “It’s all about learning how to take it.”

“Ah, _fuck_ ,” Joyce bit out, and came.

 

They lay on the carpet afterwards, cuddled up together. Naked from the waist down. Megan walked her fingers up and down Joyce’s torso playfully.

“What should we do next time?” she asked. “It’s your turn to pick.”

“The car,” said Joyce. “Definitely.” Megan’s new Corvette was candy apple red and hugged the roads like an old flame. “We’ll head outside the city and I’ll do you on the hood.”

“I like it,” said Megan. “But I get to drive.”

 

 


End file.
